RÍONE tasted her father's cruelty for the first time when she was no more than five-years-old.

There was a neighbourhood tabby called Mrs Pickles - her hide was snow white and her socks were black. Maybe she was named Pickles because of her green eyes, which resembled the dull hue of pickled cucumbers. And unlike most strays, Mrs Pickles was an affectionate cat. Not the kind that hisses at you or tries to bite off your finger when you try to pet it.

Ríone loved playing with her. They had moved into the house only a couple of years before and the little Ríone did not have too many friends to keep her company. The cat often came to her early in the morning when her parents would still be asleep. Things were much better back then - there would not be any fights, screaming, his father retching up food and liquor everywhere around the house. Back then, her parents still shared a bedroom.

She did not remember what made her father so irritated that morning, when, like usual, she was playing with Mrs Pickles on the front porch of the house. Ríone had not even noticed the hulking figure of her father clad in grey corduroy pants and a baggy shirt making his way towards her. What she remembered was that one moment the cat was licking her fingers and the next a hand grabbed it by the scruff of her neck and hoisted her in the air.

The cat struggled. She waved her paws frantically to free herself from Ríone's father's voice grip. Her loud meows filled the scene. By then, Ríone had stood up. She looked at her father with widened eyes. The redness of his face made her heart race. In his stare was such a dark rage that Ríone trembled.

"Shut up, you foul beast!" He shouted at the cat. Startled, the cat did stop to thrash about for a moment. Then she slashed at his arm with her claws, drawing blood.

That made something dormant in her father come to life. He did not scream again, nor did his face show any signs of pain. Serenity pervaded his countenance as he slowly grabbed the cat by both arms and twisted her neck in one smooth stroke. The crunch of bones breaking reverberated in the air.

Ríone turned pallid as he dropped the dead cat. Its eyes, which only a moment ago were so full of life, were now all glassy. They seemed to look at the young girl with an accusatory glance. She could have saved her. But she did not.

The next moment she ran towards the house as fast as her feet could carry her, the sound of Mrs Pickles's neck snapping echoing in her ears and the sight of her glassy eyes etched in her memory. It was something she could never forget. That was why she would never forgive her father, unlike her mother - she did not see the darkness looming right beneath the facade that he used to fool others even after his death.

She hated him with every fibre of her being and always would.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Drool mixed with blood dribbled down a corner of her mouth. More blood ran down from her forehead, an effect of her fall on the stairs. Splinters of woods stuck inside her nails made them throb. With small steps she advanced towards the guest bedroom.

She had lain unconscious on the stairs for a long time. When she gained her sentience, she found the apparition of her father had disappeared. All the lights of the living room were switched on, blinding her for a moment. Everything looked just the same as she had left them. The darkness, the feeling of utter despondency that she had felt upon entering the house, was gone. As if it was all just a dream.

But Ríone knew it was no dream. It could not be. Dreams were never so cruel.

The sight of the bed made her break down. Ríone let out a guttural cry and fell onto it facedown, warm streams of blood and tears wetting the bed cloth. She banged her fists upon the bed, her screams banging against the walls of the room. It was all too much for her to bear. She did not want to relive that terrible day again. Why did her mind have to be so cruel?

The harder she struggled, the more it reminded her of that day all those years ago.

Her shirt and shorts dripped water on the kitchen floor as she hoisted herself through the window in the kitchen. Her face was pale and her eyes were red. Only moments ago, she had seen Sean drown - taken by something that lived underneath the sea. His helpless cries rang in her ears. Her head spun like a frisbee in mid-air, making her balance go haywire. Maybe she had made a noise while getting in that attracted her father's attention.

Because when she was about to cross the threshold, she found him standing there. An acidic grin was etched on his lips.

"You were screwing around with that boy, weren't you?" He said. "Won't you let your ol' daddy get a taste of you?"

The next thing she remembered was her yelling and him cornering her by the kitchen counter. Like a hungry predator clawing at the insides of its victim, he tore at her shirt. By this time, Ríone could only see red and black splotches in her vision. But she could still feel. She was not numb to other sensations. Perhaps being numb would have made it easier to endure it.

His thick lips sucked at her chest. At the places where her nipples were. She could feel his teeth biting at her skin, his drool drying on her. Yet the greatest violation of that day occurred when he pulled down her pants and put his fingers inside of her.

Ríone's eyes bulged. No, this could not be happening. Her father might be violent and a drunkard, but he would not do this to his daughter. This got to be that thing in the sea in the guise of her father. It had to be. She wanted it to be a big nightmare - when she would wake up, Sean would be alive and she safe in her bedroom.

But it was not just a nightmare. Her father coming in and out of her with greater intensity than the last time. Pain bloomed in between her legs like a thousand needles being poked inside of her. It stung. She could feel something warm running down her legs. Something that smelt like the metallic tang of blood.

For a few more harrowing moments, this went on. Then a scream at last stopped this torture.

"Leave my daughter alone!"

It was her mother. Her eyes blazed with a fire she never had seen before. The shine of her dress and the hammer in her arms made Ríone think of knights. Women could also be the knight in shining armour, she learnt that day. A warmth surged in her heart. Her Ma would save her.

And save she did. Before her father could react to the situation, she came forward and banged that hammer against his forehead. With a pained scream, he fell to the floor. Blood pooled around him. Yet it did not seem to satisfy her mother.

A bellow. She hit her husband with the hammer again and again all over his body until the man stopped moving altogether. Even after his movements had ceased, she kept hitting him. Ríone squirmed every time the hammerhead contacted the bone, for the sounds reminded her of the day when her father had snapped Mrs Pickles's neck.

When her mother averted her attention towards her, blood covered a substantial part of her garb. She rushed towards her daughter and took her in her arms. Ríone sobbed.

"It's over, Río, it's over," she said to her, kissing the top of her forehead. "Now go to the bathroom upstairs and wash yourself. Ma needs to make some important phonecalls. Do not come down until I tell you to do so."

Ríone nodded. She wiped the tears off her face and limped her way to the bathroom. After she had washed herself, she locked herself in her bedroom. Her body shivered from the ordeal. She remembered little of what happened next.

Two weeks later, after Sean's funeral, her mother packed their things. Mostly their clothes, few books and some other necessary accessories. They left everything that belonged to her father untouched. One fine October morning, her mother roused her from sleep, dressed her in a pretty floral dress and the mother and daughter set off for New York.

"We will live with Patricia, my cousin," she explained to Ríone on their way to the city. "You will have so much fun there. It is much better than Loutham."

Ríone said nothing. She neither showed assent nor dissent to the idea. Those days, she spoke little. A mere nod, and that was all. Her insides still clamoured from what happened only a few weeks ago. Death was not enough to part from the experience that her father made her go through.

Her New York days went in a flash. She frequently visited a doctor who gave her bitter pills to have before going to sleep. In the new school, she did not make new friends or attract the attention of bullies. She was a ghost striding amongst the living, who was never given much notice. The thing good about the situation was that Patricia was a kind woman who was very sweet with her, and her mother seemed to always be in a good mood.

Time passed. Loutham faded away from her memories. She passed with a master's degree in English at about the same time when she published her first novel. Life really changed for her then - the validation from her editorial team, the good reviews she received from the critics and the love she received from her initial readers washed away the blights of her life. What happened in Loutham seemed to be from another life.

Followed by that Derek would propose marriage to her. She, him and Timothee had been friends since their college days. But Derek and her relationship always were different. He had been there for her in every major life event so far, supported her when she was low. It did not come to her as a surprise when he went down on his knees amidst the crowd in the bookstore for her first book signing event.

They married. Had kids. The past was forgotten, hidden within the deep trenches of her mind. She had all she ever wanted. Everything was going well until the death of mother. That was when the past poked its nose into the present once more.

For years, she thought her mother had sold their house in Loutham. But on her death, when her solicitor declared Ríone had inherited that house, she was shocked. She had questions that only her mother could have answered. But she was not there and Ríone found herself in a hopeless situation.

She would dream of the house every night after that. The sea with its waves lapping against the shore. In her biweekly sessions with Timothee, she confided him about her dreams when he suggested she come back.

"Give it another chance." Those were his very words.

A mirthless laugh emerged from her throat. She gave it a chance. But all it did was shatter all the progress that she so painstakingly had achieved in the past two decades. It made her go through the same horrors, meet the same demons that she tried so hard to escape.

Why did it have to be so cruel? What had she ever did to deserve such hurt? Why, just why, could this not be just another happy homecoming? Was it never happy in the first place? Lying in darkness with the silvery light of the moon her only companion, Ríone failed to find comfort in the place she once had called home.

A home it never was. At least, not for her.